- wisely, we should marvel at a woman of Delicia
Vaughan's intellectual gifts (which were coupled, we may presume, with the keen insight into human nature that a novelist should possess) marrying a man of the Lord Carlyon type—a big, handsome animal, whose conversation must have afforded her very little entertainment. She loved him because to her (to quote the book) he was a "strong, splendid, bold, athletic, masterful creature who was hers—hers only!" Is it possible that a woman of Delicia Vaughan's alleged intelligence would have fallen so completely in love with a man who "was absolutely devoid of all ambition, save a desire to have his surname pronounced correctly"? Truly, a dull dog—yet Delicia worshiped him. She disregarded the apostolic command to little children not to take unto themselves idols. She doted on this man of inches. She housed and fed him, pampered him, showered money on him, and he repaid her by indulging in a low intrigue with a music-hall dancer.
Marie Corelli almost laughs at her heroine. But, even while the smile hovers on her lips, she explains poor Delicia's phantasy. It was "the rare and beautiful blindness of perfect love"—squandered on an entirely worthless object. And this is quite a true touch, for even lady-novelists are only human.
